


I Have Loved the Stars

by IneffablePenguin



Series: Love, and Other Ineffable Things [12]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tender Sex, This time anyway, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 01:29:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21311935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffablePenguin/pseuds/IneffablePenguin
Summary: Wherein Crowley wakes terrified in the night, and Aziraphale reminds him very clearly that he is safe and loved.{Part 12 of the 'Love, and Other Ineffable Things' series}
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Love, and Other Ineffable Things [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1405606
Comments: 41
Kudos: 500





	I Have Loved the Stars

* * *

Crowley ran through fire.

The bookstore was burning all around him, flames licking the tables and desk and shelves. He coughed out a lungful of smoke and darted frantically from room to room, opening doors, scanning the main floor area. The carefully arranged book displays were already pillars of pure fire in the middle of the room. The very carpet smoldered. He ignored the heat melting the soles of his shoes and ran to the back area where they had spent so many casual evenings. The fire was thickest here, consuming their sofa and wine cabinet, warping all the achingly familiar items into charred caricatures. Nothing. He sprinted up the spiral staircase, taking the steps three at a time as it began to buckle and crack beneath its own weight. The floorboards of the landing creaked ominously under his pounding feet as he checked every single nook and cranny of the upper level, but still he could not find Aziraphale. He finally stopped and stared helplessly around him, squinting through the billowing black smoke. The angel’s precious books were burning in their shelves, turning to piles of curled white ash, and while that gave him a pang it was nothing compared to the horror he felt as he realized Aziraphale was simply not there. He stood at the heart of the burning bookshop, hands clutching white-knuckled at the balcony railing, and there was nothing but fire and emptiness all around him. He was too late. The angel was already gone from the world, lost forever. Lost to _him_ forever, and he hadn't been there. He had never even told him. Gone.

_Gone! _

He felt his heart crack wide. A great black chasm seemed to yawn open before him, taunting, a glimpse of the endless lonely days ahead. An endless, solitary life stretching on and on into the distance, with no chance of escape, no hope of betterment. Alone. He stood there like a man struck through the heart, staring breathlessly into the future, and it was a void. A scream rose in his chest, but was choked off as his throat constricted shut and he couldn't breathe, _he couldn't breathe he couldn't_-

Crowley jolted awake with a gasp, with the acrid smell of smoke thick in his nostrils and the taste of ash on his tongue. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t technically need to breathe, but that was easy to forget with his chest squeezed strangling-tight like a giant fist. He thrashed wildly, choking, completely disoriented in the darkness and full of a terrified, endless despair.

Suddenly a pair of soft, warm arms slid around him, and an equally warm body pressed up against his side.

Even in his panic, even not knowing where he was, he knew those arms.

_“It’s alright,”_ a voice whispered in his ear. _“All is well.”_

He knew that voice, too. That voice was a lighthouse shining through the darkness; it broke through the storm of his terror and soothed him before he even understood why. It wound its way through his mind like a cool river through a forest fire, leaving calm in its wake.

He heaved a deep, ragged breath, then another, and the world slowly began to filter in. Reality gradually came into focus. The suffocating smell of ash and smoke faded, to be replaced by fresh paper and wood and a familiar cologne. Nothing was burning. He was on his back on the floor – no. The world tilted, and his mind reeled in confusion. No. He was lying in a _bed_. He clutched desperately at the sheets, hands fisted, trying to anchor himself. He was in _their_ room, lying in _their_ bed...

"That's it, deep breaths," the voice said, and it was full of sunlight and afternoon tea. Soft lips brushed his cheek, and the warm arms shifted around him and pulled him closer now that he had stopped flailing. “You’re safe,” Aziraphale murmured, and the voice at last had a name. “You’re safe here with me, my love.”

The arms holding him belonged to his angel, who was not dead after all. He was home. All _was_ well.

The knowledge came with a burst of mingled joy and searing disbelief.

Crowley threw his arms around him, eyes stinging; he clutched at Aziraphale like a drowning man and buried his face in his chest. The angel smelled like books and evening coffee and all that was comfortable in the world, and for a long time he just clung to him and breathed him in. He lay there and let that wonderful smell fill him up and chase out the lingering scent of smoke.

He had come to hate the smell of smoke.

He kissed the soft chest and rubbed away a couple of treacherous tears on the silk nightshirt. There was something desperately important that he needed to say, before it was too late. His throat was still sore and clenched tight, but he managed a strangled whisper: “I love you.”

Hands stroked his hair, smoothing the cold sweat off his temples, running over his neck and down to rub his back. Pure comfort radiated out from the touch, and he lay there with his eyes closed, holding his angel, slowly letting himself believe it was real. Aziraphale rocked him, steady as a ship at dock, and the gentle motion helped ease his aching heart.

“That sounded like a bad one,” Aziraphale commented after a while.

_It was_. “Ngh. No worse than usual," he muttered hoarsely. He meant to leave it at that, but the echoing pain welled up and poured out of his mouth before he could stop it. "I just...I thought I lost you."

The hand stroking his hair paused for a couple of heartbeats, then resumed, slower. He had never actually spoken about the subject of his dreams before.

“It’s alright, I’m here. It wasn’t real,” Aziraphale said quietly.

_Not all of it, anyway_.

“Are you sure that this isn’t the dream?” he demanded, face still pressed firmly into the nightshirt. He cringed even as he said the words. It was his deepest, most irrational fear, and he never would have voiced it aloud if not for the pain and sleepy residue clouding his mind. He had also gone to bed without any clothes on, and felt distinctly exposed and vulnerable under the sheets.

There was a snap of fingers, and a ball of clear, cool light appeared from nowhere to hang over them. Crowley turned his head and looked around. It illuminated the little bedroom and drove out the shifting shadows, bringing a sharp clarity to the world beyond what even he could normally see. The room was even more sparsely furnished than usual, as their possessions were being steadily packed away in preparation for the big move next week. But there was still more than enough familiarity to ground him. He finally looked up, and blue eyes looked calmly back down at him. Little creases at the corners of those eyes deepened as he smiled.

“You see? Quite sure.” Aziraphale kissed his forehead and held him tighter still. His arms were cosy and reassuring. **“**I promise, this is real. You are here with me, my darling.” He reached for Crowley’s left hand and threaded their fingers together; there was a soft clink as their wedding rings touched, silver to gold. “To the end, remember?”

Memory bloomed bright and warm, melting the cold places inside him. Crowley heaved a sigh and kissed the angel’s hand. He was slightly embarrassed at having said so much, but he did feel better. The worst of the fear and sorrow were finally seeping out of him, and he relaxed against Aziraphale and rubbed at his eyes. He felt so very weary. “Of course, yeah. Sorry, I’m just tired.”

“Shh. Don’t apologize.” Aziraphale dimmed the summoned light but left it on. He touched his nose to his cheek, then kissed him, slowly. His mouth tasted of summertime. “Mm.” He pressed light kisses all over his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks. He seemed determined to smother him, and Crowley let him, breathing in his presence and affection like oxygen.

“I’m here,” Aziraphale said, between kisses. Those soft lips kept brushing over his face and neck, and one hand trailed down his chest. “Everything is fine. I am right here, safe in bed with you.” The hand continued down his stomach, sliding beneath the covers to rub him in smooth motions, and Crowley groaned. His body responded with immediate approval, lurching to attention, and all at once he desperately needed more. He needed his husband’s warmth and quiet strength and all the reassurance he could give. He needed to soak him in and forget, and be reminded what was real. He made a soft sound of entreaty. Their lips found each other again, and this time he matched heat for heat. His hands on Aziraphale’s chest curled shut to grasp the nightshirt, and he insistently pulled him over on top of him.

The angel moved with him willingly, just as eager, shifting into position between his legs and enfolding him in his arms. Crowley dragged handfuls of the silk shirt up over his head and flung it away, then twined his own arms around his neck.

“I’m right here, love, you’re not alone,” Aziraphale murmured. He tenderly kissed his mouth as he reached down to slick his erection with a small miracle, then eased himself into him.

Crowley groaned, and Aziraphale closed his eyes and exhaled hard, trembling. “It’s alright, I’ve got you,” he whispered. He pulled Crowley's leg up to wrap around his waist, hand gripping tight on his thigh. He kissed him again, harder, and surged forward with his hips, and Crowley forgot to be afraid.

The way Aziraphale made love was almost beyond description. It was full of the softness that defined him in everything he did, but that was not to say it was hesitant or weak, or uncertain, for his angel was none of those things. He was like the sun itself, gentle as the dawn and blazing with the hidden strength that he revealed in such rare flashes. He was bright enough to illuminate the entire world. 

That illumination filled Crowley up and drove out the dark phantoms**. **

Aziraphale took him eagerly, with the unrestrained joy that he poured into everything in his life. His steady hand grasped his thigh and held him in place as he found the perfect rhythm, and it was firm and deep and sweet. Crowley clenched his legs hard around his hips, groaning in pleasure as they rocked on the bed. He dug his fingers into his back, silently begging for more, and the angel gave it without hesitation, as always. He knew what he needed; he knew the very song of his soul, and there was no need for anything as crude as words. He thrust faster, harder, holding Crowley tight and whispering a steady outpouring of love and affection into his ear. Gasping and moaning in unabashed pleasure of his own. For all his blushing and stammering out in the world, when it came to actual lovemaking Aziraphale was beautifully unselfconscious. _Fuck_, but he was almost too gorgeous to be true.

Crowley’s skin was damp with sweat again, but it was honest sweat this time. His heart pounded, but not the sickened beat of terror, now. He lost himself in the divine feeling of Aziraphale’s pliable waist under his hands, of his mouth on his throat, the motion of his hips. The exquisite feel of him pushing inside, the moans of ecstasy. The angel's body was pillow-soft against his own and rock-hard where it mattered, and absolutely, wonderfully, undeniably_ real. _

The nightmare dwindled to nothing and vanished in a final puff of smoke.

He wrapped his arms and legs tighter around him, pulling him as close as he could. "Tell me you love me. Tell me I'm yours."

“Yes, my darling," Aziraphale panted, voice catching. "You are mine forever, and you are loved.” He slid a hand under his head and kissed him deeply, exploring his mouth with his tongue. “Mmh. So loved.”

Crowley took his face in his hands and kissed him back, and his joy was all the sharper for the sorrow that had preceded it. Aziraphale caught that joy and shone it back at him, vigorously, and that healing light touched all the ravaged places in his spirit. It made him whole**.**

All too soon he reached the limit of his endurance, tired and relieved as he was. He held him tight and shuddered as he came, moaning Aziraphale's name over and over again like a prayer. The angel followed suit with a deep groan only a couple moments later. He always struggled to last when he was the one on top, but Crowley only loved him all the more for it. Aziraphale was endearingly low in willpower when it came to pleasures of the flesh.

After, he didn’t let go of him. He thought he might never let go of him again. Aziraphale seemed content with this, and merely shifted his body over a little to curl up against him and lay his head on his shoulder. He was still breathing slightly heavily. Crowley sighed, at peace and finally feeling like himself. Aziraphale was safe in his arms, where he belonged, and the world was in the proper shape again. He kissed the side of his husband’s face and smoothed the tousled blond curls with his hand, letting his mouth linger. It must have been close to the morning hours, as there was a ghost of rough stubble beginning to grow along his jaw. "Sorry I woke you up."

Aziraphale glanced up at him and raised his eyebrows. “Hush. You didn't do it on purpose.” He smirked a little. "And all things considered, I'm glad you did."

Crowley only smiled at that, and held him closer. He had got the better end of the bargain, by far.

Soft fingers drummed idly against his chest, toying with the thin line of hair there. "Is it my imagination,” Aziraphale said slowly, “or are the dreams happening...less frequently? I think that was your first one since before the wedding, and that was weeks ago.”

"Actually...yeah, it was. Huh." He considered for a moment. Now that he thought about it, it _had_ been weeks. The longest he'd ever gone. “What can I say. It must be your angelic influence on my character.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “Right, I’m sure that’s it.” His voice was drier than desert sand, and Crowley grinned up at the ceiling. For a second the angel had sounded almost exactly like him.

He sighed and kissed the blond hair. “I’m sure it will be back again, eventually.” The thought didn’t bother him nearly as much as it once would have. 

Aziraphale sighed, too. “I know,” he said. “So we’ll just have to keep making as many good moments as possible, as often as we can, to drown them out. Like the one we just made. And this.” He cupped a hand behind his head and kissed him, long and slow, and Crowley’s head was swimming by the time he pulled away. The angel beamed at him. “It’s like with stars, isn’t it? They’re small, but a lot of them make up a constellation, and transform a black sky into something else entirely, something lovely.” He rested his head back on his shoulder, looking up at where his little light still shone. He reached out and made a spreading motion with one hand, and the single ball of white light scattered into a thousand sparkling pinpoints. Crowley looked on in wonder as they shifted above them, a twinkling canopy, settling into the patterns that he had watched turn through the night sky for millennia. The tiny bedroom suddenly seemed much, much larger.

“The more stars there are, the less the black parts matter,” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley swallowed and took a moment to find his voice. “How very poetic." He very much liked the analogy, and it made the prospect of another nightmare all the less frightening.

“Thank you, I’ve been thinking about it for a while.” The angel was smiling serenely up at the lights, looking characteristically pleased with himself.

They lay there together for a time, saying nothing, just watching the borrowed heavens twinkle above them. After a few minutes Crowley found his eyes being drawn down to the man in his arms instead. Bits of starlight glinted off Aziraphale’s pale skin like freckles, and a faint smile lingered on his lips. Crowley gently kissed his cheek and traced his fingertips down the soft groove of his spine, the curve of his waist. Perfect.

“You’re right, you know,” he said at length, still watching those lips. “Except that no moments with you are small. They’re all as large as the entire sky.”

Blue eyes crinkled up at him again as the angel grinned. “Now look who’s being poetic. And yes, obviously, but I was trying to be modest.”

He snorted. “Don’t. You’re very bad at it.” He ran his fingers through the pale hair again, marveling anew at how soft it was. “And it’s completely unwarranted.”

He reached out and pulled Aziraphale’s mouth to meet his own, and together they returned to the business of building constellations.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> _Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;_   
_I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night._


End file.
